


Maybe This Time

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1930s, Angst, Crowley communicates through Queen songs, Falling In Love, Great Depression, Heaven is homophobic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), So is Hell, inspired by Cabaret, set in Berlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-08-20 02:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20220367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There was a cabaret in a city called Berlin, in a country called Germany, in a Europe that just narrowly escaped the end of the world and was rapidly heading towards another attempt.And in that cabaret, an Angel and a Demon were dancing together. The trumpets signaling end times could have been playing, and they wouldn’t have even heard it over the music.





	1. Give Me a Call

The train pulled into the station, the next stop on his list of important European cities, and Aziraphale was running out of hope. Still he kept his head high, kept his suitcase close, and miracles a few marks into his pocket. He knew exactly one soul in the city, whom he telephoned as soon as he stepped off the train.

Hugo greeted him warmly out the station, “Mr. Fell, _willkommen,_ welcome to Berlin! You haven’t changed a bit.” 

“Thank you kindly, old chap.”

“I haven’t seen you since last time I was in London. When was that?”

“Oh, the best part of ten years ago, I suspect. You kept coming into my shop to chat.”

“Yes, yes your shop! I miss it dearly. I never did manage to convince you to part with that copy of Milton, did I?” 

Aziraphale smiled, “Stop by next time I’m in London, maybe you can still acquire it.”

“Oh, I doubt it. It’s your first day here, allow me to show you around the city,”

“I couldn’t possibly--”

“I insist, it would be my pleasure. I know the very best places,”

“I don’t know, I thought I’d settle in for today. I’m not sure if I’m up for--”

“I’ll meet you outside your place at 9 tonight, okay?”

“Well, alright then!” 

“Where are you staying, I’ll walk you there.” 

The pair caught up as they walked to the little flat. The city wasn’t magnificent and ancient and austere, it was rather more seedy and grimy. Smelled of smoke and rain. 

“Your letter was vague; so I want to know exactly what brings you here? I wouldn’t think you would be one to part with your precious books.”

“Oh, I’ve had a touch of melancholy I suppose. I thought some traveling would be curative, but listen to this: in the past six months, I’ve been to London, Paris, Madrid, Florence. Dublin, even.”

“Quite the European tour.”

“Yes. They’re all the same, I find nothing helps.”

“Berlin’s not like all those other places. It’ll suit you perfectly, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, I really do hope so.”

“This is you, then.” They stopped in front of a scruffy apartment building, and they bid farewell, “_Auf wiedersehen,_ I’ll see you tonight.” 

Aziraphale carried his suitcase up the extremely narrow and steep staircase. He met with the landlady who seemed a nice, if weary woman. She showed him to his room on the top floor. It was a tiny pre-furnished flat, not much more than a cupboard. But he didn’t need much, so it hardly mattered. He unpacked his clothes and hung them up neatly. Then, he settled down with a good book until the clock struck nine. 

“Hugo, dear boy, where are you taking me?” Aziraphale said. He had thought the neighborhood where his flat was located was seedy, but things only got worse from there. The streets were dark now, and mostly empty except for a few shady-looking people and stray cats.

“Trust me, this is the perfect place for your sort.”

Aziraphale vaguely wondered what sort he meant. He didn’t feel he belonged here at all, and thought that he was perhaps on his way to a mugging. The pair stopped in front of an unmarked door, and Hugo led the way inside, “Come, come.” 

When the door had opened, music poured out. 

“Is this a club?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yes, a cabaret. The most fun to be had in all of Germany.”

They stepped into the main area, and Aziraphale thought he might pass out. It was all so very overwhelming: the jaunty music, the boisterous patrons, the obscene acts performed on stage. Despite the building front being rather decrepit, the inside was perfectly clean and homey. But, more surprising than anything else, he could feel a sense of love over the whole place. It was a love that was freely given and freely taken. Freely expressed by the people of every persuasion embracing each other in the dark dining room. Oh, how he wished Oscar could have been here. 

Hugo sat him down at a table, totally empty except for a telephone, “So, what do you think?”

“Why, it’s wonderful!” 

“See, I knew you’d like it.” 

A few more acts passed, including a few acrobats, a risque song and dance, and a cross-dressing performance. Aziraphale clapped politely as each of the performers bowed; it was all interesting, but nothing to his taste, really. 

The master of ceremonies came on the stage and the crowd quieted down to listen, “This next performance is by our talented young man from England! I bet you’d like to get in his garden, wouldn’t you? Please welcome to the stage our international star, the one of a kind…Eden!”

The music started up again, the lights dimmed, and he could see a figure waltzing onto center stage. The spotlight turned on. Aziraphale sat up. _Was that?_

Crowley had entered with a chair and an outfit that revealed a lot of skin. And he began to sing, 

_“Tonight, I’m gonna have myself a real good time_  
_I feel alive_  
_And the world_  
_I’ll turn it inside out, yeah_  
_Floating around in ecstasy_  
_So don’t stop me now,”_

The music quickly picked up and so did his dancing, though Aziraphale thought it was becoming more of a contortionist act than a dance. One could tell by the way he moved that he’d once been a snake. It was all rather raunchy, and the audience was whooping along to every impossible movement. Even Aziraphale found himself somewhat moved by the performance; he began to blush at the seductive sway of his hips. The last time they had met, they’d both been under the constraints of Victorian modesty. And now-- here he was, throwing his head back and pouring his heart into the song,

_“There’s no stopping me_  
I’m burning through the sky, yeah  
Two hundred degrees  
That’s why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit  
I’m traveling at the speed of light  
I wanna make a supersonic man out of you,” 

“I see someone’s caught your eye, Mr. Fell,” Hugo whispered. 

“No, not at all. I don’t even know him.”

“Do you know why there’s a telephone on each of these tables?”

“Erm, why?”

“So if you see someone you like, you can give him a call. And if you have a good conversation, perhaps you can meet with him in a private room.”

_“If you wanna have a good time, just give me a call”_

Hugo continued, “If you wanted to do that, don’t let me stop you. The numbers for each of the performers are listed on this little card, right here, you see. In fact, I’ll step away for a moment, have a smoke. Farewell for tonight.” And he left Aziraphale alone.

_”I don’t want to stop at all!”_

Crowley’s act soon ended, and was met with raucous applause. He bowed low, and made a swift exit stage left. He was quickly replaced with a man playing a jazzy piano song. Aziraphale reached for the phone, and dialed the number listed next to his stage name. 

“Sprechen sie Englisch?” The familiar voice drawled.

“Yes, I do.”

“God, finally, someone British! Sorry, my German is just rubbish. So, you liked my act?”

“It was wonderful.”

“And what do you think of me?” He whispered low and sultry.

Aziraphale couldn’t think of anything to say, but another man’s words rose to his lips:

“W-when, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,  
I all alone beweep my outcast state,  
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,  
And look upon myself and curse my fate,  
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,  
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,  
Desiring this man’s art--”

“Wait, wait, wait… Aziraphale?” He heard the phone slam down. A second later, Crowley was darting through the backstage door looking around the tables. 

“I knew it was you. No one else would start reciting _Shakespeare_ in a Cabaret.” He sat himself down next to Aziraphale.

“My dear boy, what are you doing here?”

“What am I-- what are you doing here!”

“I’m just visiting Berlin, a change of pace--”

“No. What are you doing _here_? In this den of sin?”

“Sin? No no no, dear. This whole place is full of love.”

“Love? No, Angel, that’s lust! Absolutely demonic, that.”

“Surely you can feel all the love, It’s everywhere here.” 

“You’re being ridiculous.”

Aziraphale dropped it, “What happened to your nap?”

“Taking a break. Your shop?”

“Taking a break as well. Here’s an idea, why don’t I get you a drink?”

Crowley waved down a waiter, “Gin and tonic for me, scotch for my… friend. He’s paying.” The drinks were quickly placed down in front of them.

“You still haven’t told me what exactly you’re playing at, with all this.” Aziraphale gestured to Crowley’s whole ensemble.

He shrugged, “Oh, you know. A bit of temptation, spreading a bit of chaos. Suppose that’s why you’re here too, a thwarting?”

“No, I--”

Crowley waved around to all the patrons of the cabaret, “Thought you’d bring all the wretched sinners to God’s light, isn’t that right?”

“I assure you, I’m not here for Heaven’s sake--”

“Because if you want to try and convert all the homosexuals and transsexuals, I’ll tell you to fuck right off--”

“Crowley, please! I have no opposition to any of that.” 

“Why are you here then?”

Aziraphale took a drink, and placed the glass down heavily, “If you must know, I’m in mourning.”

“Oh…Listen, I’m sorry--”

“No. I suppose you were right to question my motives. But you must know I’ve never been consulted on policy decisions up there. I hope I have made that clear to you in all the time we’ve known each other.”

Crowley tapped the table anxiously, realizing he’d misjudged this whole thing, “Come on, let’s get out of here. We need to catch up.”

“Don’t you have to--?” Aziraphale pointed to the stage that was now occupied by a woman singing in French.

“Nah, I’ll walk you home. Just let me get dressed first, then I’m all yours.”

They left the cabaret together, and walked down the dark city streets. There was a careful distance kept between them. But smaller than it had once been. They walked for some time without saying anything. 

Aziraphale fidgeted with his coat, “So, how long have you been in Berlin for?”

“‘Bout a year. You?”

“I just arrived today.”

“Just arrived, huh? How long will you stay?”

“I’m not entirely sure at the moment.”

“Well, I hope you find everything you’re looking for here.” He paused, “Who are you, uh…?”

“Who am I grieving for?”

Crowley nodded softly.

“He was… a dear friend of mine. He passed under terribly unfortunate circumstances.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, my dear boy. You know, I’m very glad to see you again.” 

“As am I. I missed--”

Aziraphale stopped him short, “This is my flat. Will you come up?”

“No… no, I don’t think I can.” Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets, “I’ll, er… I’ll see you around.” He turned around and gave a wave. 

Aziraphale went up his stairs alone. He heard some peculiar noises coming from the neighbor’s flat before he miracled the thin walls to be soundproof. He had enjoyed the evening, but now found himself incredibly lonely once again. Maybe Berlin would be just like all those other places. But then again, Crowley hadn’t been with him before.

Crowley, meanwhile, tried to calm himself down the whole time he walked back to the Cabaret. And he made it just in time for the finale. In front of an audience, his fears melted away. The applause rolled through him like heroin. 

Backstage his French coworker Dot nudged him while they both changed out of costume, “So?”

“So what?”

“That handsome fellow you walked outta here with?”

“Shut up.”

“My, my. The way he was looking at you--”

“I said shut it!” 

She gave him a shove, “Come on, it’s not like you to not kiss and tell.”

“Ngk-- there’s nothing to tell, okay? No kissing. No nothing.”

“No nothing?”

“Nope.” He pulled on his jacket, “Ciao!”

“Wait, the boss has a John for you if you wanna work overtime.”

“Eh, tell him no, Dot. Not tonight.”

She frowned, “Are you feeling okay? I got the number for a doctor if you want--”

“I’m fine, just tired. I’ll see you tomorrow!” And he quickly miracled her to get home safe, just as he did each night. 

Crowley did not go to sleep right away when he arrived at his flat. It wasn’t that he was lying about being tired, but his mind was racing far too much to do anything but drink. He got so plastered that he forgot to sober himself up before finally falling asleep, and woke with a painful hangover. The kind that was so bad that even after being magic-ed away, it left a lingering throb behind his eyes. It took him a moment to remember the night before, but oh had he remembered.

Aziraphale and him were together again, and he had no idea what to make of that.


	2. I Just Can't Get No Relief

Aziraphale left in the morning to find a cafe for some breakfast. At the same time, a man in a military uniform sheepishly made his way out of the neighboring flat, avoiding eye contact. Aziraphale tutted at him.

A cozy cafe sat just down the street, and he found it suitably charming. He ordered a tea and some kind of German pastry from the lady running the place. Every bite of the food was enjoyable. So much, in fact, that he felt compelled to introduce himself to the expert baker. 

“Guten morgen! Did you bake all this yourself?”

“_Ja_, though everything here is my mother’s recipes.”

“She taught you well, it was absolutely scrumptious, my dear. I shall keep coming back until I’ve tried every one of her recipes.” He held out a hand, “I’m Mr. Fell.”

She cast a suspicious eye, but introduced herself anyway, “Fraulein Matilda. _Danke, danke_, you’re so kind. I’m sorry for my English--”

“Don’t apologize, you speak it perfectly well. I’m afraid I can’t say the same about my German.”

“You’re too kind. I apologize if anyone has shown you any rudeness since you’ve been here.”

“Would they?”

“You’re British, yes? Sentiments are turning against the British these days. That’s what the newspaper says.”

“I don’t keep up with politics, I’m afraid. Haven’t done since the war. It’s all too terribly depressing, isn’t it?” He had made a point to keep up with world news after his incident in the Bastille but found himself too exhausted to continue with it for very long.

“You’re lucky you can remain in ignorance. Not everyone is so lucky.”

“I suppose so.”

“I must be getting on with my work, Herr Fell. Thank you for stopping by.”

Usually, he would feel pleased with himself for the discovery of such a place. And he had, no doubt enjoyed the meal and the conversation. But it hadn’t cheered him up the way he thought it would. 

He decided to head into the center city for the day. He took in all the new sights, in some ways the same as all the other places he’d been to, but in some ways remarkably different. Every other place was sort of stuck in time, stunted by the economic troubles. Berlin was still moving. Still changing. It was in the middle of a transition into something completely new, and whether it was good or bad was yet to be seen. Aziraphale didn’t normally like change, but after 30 years of stagnation, he needed a place like this.

His travel guide to Berlin made mention many sorts of monuments and architectural glories. Any other time he would have gone to see them all, but he was unmoved by all the famous monuments in every other European city, so he decided to change things up. He walked without any plan until he stumbled across a huge and beautiful concert hall, and stopped in to see the show. The inside rather shocked him; reminded him of the first time he went to go see Hamlet before Crowley had miracled it to be Shakespeare’s most famous play. The auditorium was rather large, but only a few scattered people were there to listen. 

He found a seat. He was enraptured by the orchestral piece -- though he had always appreciated classical music. This piece, in particular, captured something dreadfully human. Something beautiful and mortal and sad. In that way, it was also like his favorite tragic play. 

Maybe humans couldn’t appreciate something so human. They had no other choice but to live it every day. 

Aziraphale remembered the fear in Oscar’s face as he came to terms with what was happening to him. How he had suffered since his arrest, growing dreadfully more worn down and ill as each year passed. He deserved so much better. 

Exiting the theater, he found a few people protesting angrily. That proved his theory, people could never appreciate humanity as much as he did. He was almost tempted to go tell them off, but he kept his promise to himself to stay out of political matters, and he ignored them. 

Meanwhile, Crowley was focused on helping Dot into her makeup. She noticed his hands which were quivering ever so slightly, “Don’t be embarrassed.”

“M’not. I don’t get embarrassed.”

“I see people I used to know all the time.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t recognize you now that you’ve transitioned.”

“Some do!”

“Sure, and they think you look lovelier now than ever before.”

“Believe me, the way he was looking--”

“You don’t know him. He’s never -- ugh. He’s just so naive, you know?

“He can’t be _that_ naive if he came here. Trust me. You’re no stranger to seduction. Just, I don’t know, give it your all. If he comes back tonight, throw yourself at him. He won’t turn you down.”

“It’s not as simple as that…anyway, I doubt he’ll even be back.” Crowley insisted. 

“Hush, let me fix your hair.” 

Evening fell, and Aziraphale was still on his lark around the city. For some reason he found himself outside the place that he had spent his first night. He had walked to the cabaret without even thinking about it. The unmarked door was sitting there, begging to be opened, drawing him closer. There was no music when he entered, just the voice of the MC muffled through the walls. When he stepped past the entrance hallway, the spotlight had just blinked onto the performer on stage. Crowley’s head turned sharply, and Aziraphale knew he’d been seen, even while Crowley’s eyes remained hidden behind dark lenses. But the glance was only for one second before Crowley shifted his focus to the back of the room. His singing began, a desperate plea:

_“Each morning I get up I die a little,_  
Can barely stand on my feet  
Take a look in the mirror and cry  
Lord, what you’re doing to me,  
I have spent all my years in believing you,  
But I just can’t get no relief, Lord  
Somebody  
Oooh somebody!  
Can anybody find me somebody to love?” 

The crowd cheered. Aziraphale could hardly believe what he was hearing. He felt scared for him, but also invigorated by the power of the words. He imagined something like this could get a demon into a lot of trouble. If asked, Crowley would certainly justify it as corruption, invoking the Lord’s name during a temptation, completely dastardly. But Aziraphale knew; his grip on the microphone stand was a prayer, he looked past the ceiling, pleading for an audience with Her. What he was saying was absolutely genuine. He needed somebody to love.

_I work hard every day of my life_  
I work ‘till I ache in my bones  
At the end of the day  
I take home my hard earned pay  
All on my own  
I get down on my knees  
And I start to pray  
‘Til the tears run down from my eyes  
Lord, somebody  
Oooh somebody  
Can anybody find me somebody to love?” 

But as much as he’d hoped, Aziraphale knew Crowley wasn’t singing to him. Ever since their eyes first met, he’d intentionally looked anywhere else. 

_Find me, find me, find me, find me, find me_

He had other people to fraternise with, plenty of people to love in this city.

_Anybody, anywhere, anybody find me somebody to love_

But as soon as he left the stage, the phone on Aziraphale’s table began to ring. He picked it up cautiously.

“Hello?”

“Hey, angel. What are you doing here?”

“Watching your act, my dear.”

“Mind if I join your table?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Within a second the backstage doors burst open, revealing Crowley wearing less than he had been on stage. He leaned against the doorframe for a second before sauntering down to Aziraphale’s table. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Aziraphale said, “All the attention.”

“What’s not to enjoy? I get to have fun and do my job at the same time. My satanic job, that is.”

“I don’t understand what’s so fun about putting yourself on parade like that.”

“Well, they appreciate me. They appreciate this.” He gestured towards his corporeal form. A mischievous look swept across his face, “I’ve slept with more people in the past year than I did in my whole time in Rome. They tell me I can do wicked things with my tongue…” He paused for dramatic effect, “Oh -- I’m sorry, did I shock you?” 

“Not at all. I’ve heard much worse from my friends in the club at Portland Place.”

Crowley’s face twitched.

“Oh, I’m sorry my dear, did I shock you?”

“Er… yes.”

“I learned to dance.” Aziraphale hid his smile behind his drink.

“You _what_?”

“Yes, I had a lot of fun with that. But not fun in the way you described it. Dancing is supposed to be a sophisticated ritual. It’s a subtle art. It’s not something as, I don’t know, haphazard or brazen as what you did just now.”

“Now, I don’t know what kind of dances you’ve done, but humans only ever danced for one reason: to inspire lust.”

“I did the gavotte, my dear, it was proper--”

“You did the _kissing dance_?”

Aziraphale flustered, “Some people called it that, yes. How do you know, anyway, you’ve only been awake for a year.”

“I know my dances, Aziraphale. And that dance, well, it’s not exactly innocent, isn’t it? Quite ‘brazen,’ that. No different to what I’m doing. Anyway, I didn’t know that angels could dance.”

“They don’t, as a rule.”

They sat in silence for a moment. They hadn’t exactly fallen into the comfort they used to feel around each other -- a century apart will do that. Something was still off. Both of them had a little doubt in their mind, a little convincing voice saying: _’I’m nothing to him.’_

“We should do this again sometime.” Crowley suggested.

“That would be lovely.”

“Come back here next week, I’ll be looking out for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song featured: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kijpcUv-b8M


	3. You Make Me Live

“Why did I invite him back so soon?” Crowley mumbled anxiously, “I mean, maybe it’s too much for him, or too soon, or too fast. And I hardly know him anymore, I mean what the hell was that about dancing? He couldn’t dance last time I spoke with him--”

“Sorry to interrupt,” said the man stopping himself from kissing Crowley’s neck, “When I asked how you felt, I meant about--”

“Right, right, of course. It’s good. Don’t stop.” And Crowley pulled his head back to where it had been, “I mean what if I was too forward? Or alternatively, what if it’s too long of a wait? Dear God, what if he wanted me to ask him to dance and I missed my chance?”

The man -- _what was his name? Alan? Alex? Alastair?_\-- he stopped again, “I’m sure whatever you’re doing with him is fine. Just tell him how you feel.”

“How do you even put a relationship like that into words, Al?”

“Er, my name is James. But-- whatever. I find it’s important in cases like this to speak honestly and from the heart. For example, what my heart is saying right now is I’d like to stop talking and take you to bed already.”

“Of course, of course,” Crowley said.

The whole week Aziraphale anticipated his return to the cabaret. He almost came back earlier, but hesitated. Crowley had invited him back in exactly a week, and he suspected it would be terribly rude to visit any earlier than that. But the days seemed to drag on and on. Aziraphale decided to make a habit of visiting the cafe each morning, to pass the time if nothing else. And Matilda always took the time to speak to him.

“Do you have a wife?” She asked him.

“No, I do not.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

She nodded, as if confirming something she’d suspected. “A partner of any sort?”

“Not exactly. I have an old friend-- More of a business associate actually-- who I’ve been seeing.”

“In Berlin?”

“Yes, I was surprised to see him here. He works in a cabaret!”

She raised her eyebrows, “The things that go on in those places, I do not dare to imagine.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad.”

She returned to her reading before jumping up to speak again, “Did you hear about the-- what’s the word-- movement to uncriminalize?”

“Decriminalize?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“No, I’m afraid I have no idea what that is.”

“You really don’t follow politics, do you?” She rolled her eyes, and pointed to her newspaper, “Look here, there was a demonstration calling for the love between two men to be made legal. People are starting to listen.”

“Is that true? That’s wonderful, Matilda!”

“Yes it is.”

Some change was good, Aziraphale decided; some change was sorely needed. Berlin really had the potential to be different. 

Oscar would always serve as a reminder for what cruelty humans were capable of, but he didn’t die for no reason. He died for a future where people like him wouldn’t be punished. And it would be coming rather soon.

Aziraphale returned to the club on the day Crowley had suggested, though he was feeling some trepidation. He rather worried he was going to make a fool of himself. But he sat himself down at the cabaret anyway; trusting Crowley and trusting the love he felt from this whole place, despite the bawdy acts happening on stage. 

Soon enough, the MC announced Crowley’s arrival. 

Now that he’d been explicitly invited to watch, the two of them locked eyes and they didn’t stray this time. There was no doubt who this act was dedicated to. The music began, 

_“You’re the best friend that I ever had  
I’ve been with you such a long time”_

Aziraphale regarded Crowley’s act carefully. His mind went back to Eden. His enemy, his adversary, keeping him company up on that lonely wall while they watched the first humans get into all sorts of trouble. 

_“You’re my sunshine_  
And I want you to know that my feelings are true  
I really love you” 

The ensemble began to join in, it was transfixing. He felt the love.

_“Oooh you make me live_  
Whenever this world is cruel to me  
I got you to help me forgive” 

Aziraphale had been there for him through all the death. He’d shielded his eyes during the flood, bought him more than a few drinks after the crucifixion of Christ, and even allowed him to cry on his shoulder as the Spanish Inquisition raged on. 

_“Oooh you make me live now honey_  
Oooh you make me live  
You’re my best friend” 

And the last time they met in London… Arguing about holy water. Aziraphale wasn’t going to let him destroy himself, not in a million years. No matter how hopeless things got, he had to keep on living, he had to keep on trying. He could sleep if he felt he couldn’t deal with it (and oh had he slept), but he couldn’t die. Aziraphale still needed his friend, damn it.

_“You’re my best friend…” _

As soon as he left the stage, Aziraphale called his line, “Crowley,”

“Yes?” He asked breathlessly.

“You’re my best friend too.”

Crowley was silent.

“Come join me.” Aziraphale added, “Please.”

It took a minute or so before Crowley finally arrived at the table, a far cry from what he had done the past two visits. 

“You mean it?” Crowley asked.

“I do.” Aziraphale brushed his hand against Crowley’s that was clutching the tablecloth, “I think I’d like it if I were to see you more often.”

“I”d like that too, angel.”

Their hands quickly parted, “Then it’s settled, I’ll visit every night.”

“Oh, you don’t have to--”

“I want to.” Aziraphale insisted. 

Crowley gulped, “You can watch me perform any time you like.”

“There’s just one problem.” Aziraphale said, making Crowley’s blood freeze in his veins, “Something I’ve been wanting to mention… your stage name: Eden? It’s sort of in poor taste, isn’t it?”

Crowley laughed, “I thought it was funny.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song featured: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HaZpZQG2z10


	4. My Fine Friend

“How is a place as good as this always so empty?” He asked Matilda one day.

She frowned but didn’t look up from her newspaper, “I suppose no one has the money anymore.”

“My dear, how are you surviving?”

“I’m selling enough to get by.”

“I’ll tell everyone I know that this is the best place to eat breakfast.” Aziraphale promised, “I’ll make sure you continue to get by, don’t worry.” Later that day he’d tried, sending hungry thoughts to people as they passed her cafe, and sending the smell of fresh bread farther than it could travel on its own. But it didn’t seem to work, and he gave up before his frivolous miracles caught the attention of the other angels. 

So, he decided to go about it the human way, “My dear chap, you must give this cafe a try. I would be loathe to see it go under.”

“I can’t be spending on treats like that. I’m flat broke.” Hugo replied. 

Aziraphale widened his eyes with concern, “Oh, but why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you would have known. Who isn’t hanging on by a thread these days? Not to worry though, I’ve got a new job lined up, working on some kind of political campaign. Should make me a handsome sum. Hey, maybe I’ll give it a try once I’ve got some marks to spare.”

After that, Aziraphale began to leave extra marks behind for his friends each visit. 

Meanwhile, things at the cabaret continued like normal, the decadence continuing as if there were no troubles at all. In the cabaret, no one was hanging on by a thread. Aziraphale enjoyed it all: the love, the alcohol, and most of all, spending time with Crowley.

Crowley would perform, and he would quickly find a seat next to Aziraphale. They drank together nightly and watched the new acts on stage. They chatted away at each other just like they had so many years earlier, about how the song reminded them of one they heard in Mesopotamia, or how that performer looks just like the man who played Horatio at the Globe Theatre. At one point, though, Crowley fell silent and still. He knew what song was coming up next, and he knew what he had planned to say. He sat anxiously as the next song began, thousands of years of questions burning on his tongue.

_Bring out the charge of the love brigade_  
There is spring in the air once again  
Drink to the sound of the song parade  
There is music and love everywhere… 

He finally managed to get a few words out, “Since you’re the only angel that can dance, may I tempt you…?” 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

_Give a little love to me_  
Take a little love from me  
I want to share it with you 

Aziraphale stood up and held out a hand. Crowley accepted it. 

_Come back to me_  
Ah my love  
How I long for your love  
Won’t you come back to me? 

They walked out to the space in the center of the room, cleared of tables, and faced each other. Aziraphale tried to let the music wash over him the way he had done decades earlier, tried to remember the steps to the gavotte, until Crowley held onto his left shoulder, and they laced fingers on the other side. Everything else just fell into place. 

_My fine friend_  
Take me with you  
And love me forever  
My fine friend 

It was clumsy, neither celestial being was made for dancing, after all. But they managed with what they could; their bodies just human enough to work out the details. 

_Forever  
Forever_

As they spun around and waltzed, they held on tighter to each other, scared of what might happen when they let go, scared of being apart for another century. 

_Come back, come back_  
To me   
Come back, come back   
To me 

But even if they were torn apart, they had always found each other, among everything else that was going on. They had always come back to one another. They would always come back together.

_Come back to me_  
Make me feel  
Make me feel like a millionaire. 

On the final note, Aziraphale dipped Crowley. His arms reached around his angel’s neck and he gasped in surprise. Aziraphale held him firmly; he would never have let him fall. They both took a breath that they very sincerely needed.

The poem rang out in Aziraphale’s head again, though it went unvocalized this time:

_For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings  
That then I scorn to change my state with kings._

Crowley was the first to speak, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Walk me home?”

“Of course, angel.”

Aziraphale pulled him back to his feet, “And come up for a drink this time.”

“O-okay.”

Aziraphale led Crowley out of the club with a hand on his lower back, which he pulled away as soon as they were out in public. Crowley frowned at that and grabbed his hand. 

“My dear…be careful.”

“Don’t worry. People here don’t care about what two men-shaped beings do together.” 

Aziraphale gave one squeeze of his hand before letting go, “Upstairs certainly does.”

Crowley was crestfallen, “You don’t still think that they watch you all the time, do you? Our head offices don’t actually care what we do on a day-to-day basis.” 

“Well… I can’t blame you for not knowing I suppose.”

“Not knowing what?”

“The archangels have a particular agenda at the moment. And they’re quite hands-on with it, I’m afraid.”

“Wha-- agenda?”

Aziraphale paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, and he said the next words very carefully, “Preventing degeneration, they call it. Forming anti-sodomy laws in cities around Europe, turning the general populace… hostile towards these people.”

“Disgusting.”

“I got into a fair bit of trouble back in England for going against that plan.” Aziraphale continued quickly, as if he’d been holding this story in for far too long, “I blessed one of my friends so he could recover from his illness. Sandelphon made sure my work was reversed after about a month and he grew more ill than he was before. Went against the divine plan, is what he said.” He took a deep, sad sigh, “It took a lot of work for them to trust me again.”

Crowley froze, “Work?”

“I had to get in their good graces again. Or else I’d fall.”

“Yeah? What do you mean by that?” Crowley felt the anger that he only felt when he had seen his friends get shouted at, beaten, thrown out of their homes. He felt all the old arguments with Aziraphale resurrect, “Is that why you’re at my cabaret? To pay penance for making heaven angry?”

“I told you, I’m not here for Heaven’s sake.”

“That’s your plan, isn’t it? You’re going to rat us out to your bosses? They must be dying for an old-fashioned, city-razing smiting. Sodom all over again.”

“Crowley, that’s the last thing I--”

“And that’d prove that you weren’t _fraternising_ with me, huh?” He gave Aziraphale a shove, “You’d rather let a bunch of innocent humans get hurt than fall. That’s not. Very. Angelic.” He punctuated each word with another shove.

“Please, that’s not--”

He spun around and walked in the opposite direction, “I’ve had enough of this. I’ve had enough of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song featured: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-P0VznfK_E


	5. What Are We Living For?

When Crowley had stormed back to the cabaret, there was a new face in the dressing room. He had forgotten, there was someone new joining the cast. The boy looked extremely overwhelmed. Crowley took a steadying breath, he didn’t want to scare the poor thing away.

“First day?” Crowley asked, a little more shakey than he anticipated.

“_Ja_, I’m Hans.” 

“What do you do?”

“Ballet. And I sing.” 

“Huh,” Crowley always wanted to pick up ballet, but never found the time to, “You’ll do great, I’m sure. Don’t worry about it.” 

He was excited to see the new act and he made sure to find a good spot among the audience. They’d never had a ballet dancer in the ranks before, and a good graceful dance would be everything he needed to calm himself down. He was a bit put off when Hans stepped on stage en pointe while in a gorilla costume. It was a comedy bit, not exactly the height of grace that Crowley had expected.

But Hans quickly found his place among his coworkers. Though he was stuck in silly costumes every night, he actually could dance extremely well. 

Aziraphale had returned to his own flat that night and reminded himself that Crowley was a demon, that they weren’t friends, and that there were many more places in Berlin to go than the cabaret, and many more people to meet. He had a reason to be in Berlin: it was to cheer himself up, to grieve. Not to consort with the enemy.

He tried to call his friend Hugo, he desperately wanted a chat with someone. But he didn’t pick up the phone. Probably busy with his new job. They hadn’t spoken since he started it. He hadn’t answered any of Aziraphale’s letters either.

After his thoughts were interrupted three times by drunk soldiers knocking on his door, he made a point to introduce himself to the woman next door. She was a sweet woman who sold her time to various men, but unfortunately wasn’t an ideal person to chat with as she didn’t speak much English.

He returned to his flat and felt depressed and lonely. And he felt himself slipping back into the habits he had formed over the past few decades. All Aziraphale wanted to do was lay himself down, and shut the world out, feel numb. But the sadness was overwhelming.

He hadn’t been allowed to feel sad for thirty years. Heavenly beings don’t get to feel sad. They don’t get to mourn for their loved ones. But nothing in his ethereal nature could stop the tears from falling from his face right then. It became an ugly sob far too quickly, burning his eyes and choking him. 

He didn’t ask why the world was like this, nor why humans had to die. It was simply a fact he had to accept. Even in his deep state of grief, he knew that asking why would get him into a lot of trouble. He was already a bad angel for letting his corporeal emotions take over. It was all just chemicals in the brain, he told himself, just chemicals and electrical pulses. But that didn’t stop him from feeling like his heart had broken. Like he was so sad he would discorporate.

After Oscar had died, he had been in thirty years of hell. Not literally, of course, he was still stationed in London. After the incident with the blessing, the archangels gave him an ultimatum: either help root out all the homosexuals in the city under their careful watch or fall. 

If only Crowley had been there, they could have done things their own way. Thwart each other so that nothing gets done in the end, for either side. But, he was asleep. And besides, he couldn’t -- shouldn’t be relied upon. He was the enemy, Aziraphale reminded himself. He shoved his fondness down, beat it down until he felt numb.

_Pathetic excuse of an angel_.

He cried until he physically couldn’t anymore. He wasn’t aware of how long that went on, probably a day or two. And then, when the tears had stopped, he fished out a book from the bottom of his suitcase: _Picture of Dorian Grey._ And he began to read it for the first time in years. And when he finished it, he began to read it again.

_Some things are more precious because they don't last long._

He heard that line in Oscar’s voice. 

Can that be true for immortals as well? Maybe it became even truer. How had Oscar understood things so well? How could he arrange words in such a manner that it stirred his heart so? 

Aziraphale was thrown out of his book by a sharp knocking. “Next door!” He shouted. But the knocking didn’t stop. He opened the door to see Crowley shivering in a fur coat. And the numbness he’d been trying so hard to foster just stopped, and his heart wept for the demon.

“What are you doing here?”

“Please-- Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale stepped to the side to let him enter. Crowley walked through the doorway but didn’t allow himself to become comfortable. He simply stood, huddled in his furs.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asked, but received no answer. He began to reach for Crowley, “Let me take your coat--”

“No!” 

Aziraphale jumped back.

“Wait-- Erk. Let’s… Let’s go out. Let’s go to a club.”

“It’s rather late, isn’t it?” Aziraphale checked his watch, “Don’t you need to sleep?”

“Neither of us need to sleep.”

“Yes, but you’ve gotten into the habit of it.”

“Come out with me. Buy me a drink. I don’t want to think--”

“Are you alright, dear?”

“No. I’m not.”

He fell down on Aziraphale’s bed and recounted the events of the evening:

***

He arrived at the Cabaret like normal, but heard a muffled shout from the alley down the street. He paused with his hand on the door, and decided to investigate. When he peered down the alley, he saw two men attacking another. Attacking Hans. 

Crowley was on them in an instant, pulling them off, almost kicking them to the sun before he stopped himself. He settled for making them leave and cursing them to find something very nasty in their houses when they returned. They shouted some harsh words in German, which Crowley could only barely understand to be insults, and ran away. 

Crowley helped him up and performed a few miracles to ease the pain, “You’ll be okay.” He looped one of the man’s arms around his shoulder, “Come on, in we go.” 

Crowley brought him around to the back of the building and rested him down on a couch. 

“My act…” He groaned.

“Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you. Just rest for now.” He snapped to get the attention of one of the acrobats, and she quickly set to work bandaging him up. 

Meanwhile, Crowley walked out on-stage, wondering how humans could be so violent.

_“Empty spaces_  
What are we living for?  
Abandoned places,  
I guess we know the score  
On and on 

It’s just the same shit over and over again.

_Does anybody know what we are looking for?_  
Another hero  
Another mindless crime  
Behind the curtain  
In the pantomime  
Hold the line  
Does anybody want to take it anymore 

You just make friends with humans and then they get hurt. You make friends with an angel and you get hurt. There’s no escape from it. Maybe he’s just not built for companionship, he decides. He is a demon after all.

_The show must go on_  
The show must go on  
Inside my heart is breaking  
My makeup may be flaking  
But my smile still stays on 

But he can’t do anything else. No holy water, no escape. That means he just has to keep trying and then -- maybe this time. Maybe this time things would be different.

_Whatever happens_  
I’ll leave it all to chance  
Another heartache  
Another failed romance  
On and on  
Does anybody know what we are living for…” 

His voice broke on the final note. He started to cry. He quickly left, not listening for the cheers like he usually did. He paced around his dressing room, running a hand through his hair. 

“Hey” Dot snapped at him, “Your phone is ringing.” She picked up the receiver and shoved it in his hand.

“Hello?” Crowley said.

A chilling voice met him, “Crowley?”

“Yes.”

“I would like to zee you in private.”

_Shitshitshit. When was my last temptation?_

“Er, no.”

“No?”

“No.” Crowley hung up. 

“You haven’t seen any guys all week. What’s wrong?”

He snapped his fingers, “Nothing’s wrong, Dot. Look, your phone is ringing now.”

She gave him a worried look before being whisked away to spend time with one of the patrons of the club. All the performers, in fact, suddenly realized they had to be somewhere else. Crowley threw a coat over his costume to head out.

A firm grip on his arm stopped him.

“Why did you hang up on me, Crowley.”

“I’m going home.”

“You haven’t met your quota. That is mozzt unuzual for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, everyone has their off days, don’t they?” Crowley squirmed to try and escape their grip, but it only tightened.

“Your record of demonic miracles the past year is mozzt unuzual too. Safety, peace of mind, comfort.” Beelzebub tutted, “Taking pity on these _thingzzz_ isn’t going to help zecure zzouls for our mazter.” 

Crowley winced, “I filed the paperwork, everything is in order. I have-- I have reason--”

“Every new pathetic excuze you come up with to ensure your friends get home safely is the height of comedy in hell.” They manifested a paper out of thin air, “_Lord Zatan, I entreat you to ensure that Dorothy reaches her abode safely, for she is a bad perzzzon, very wicked indeed, and it would be a shame to lose her._” 

The paper went up in flames as soon as they finished reading, “You’re not even trying anymore, are you? But, we would have overlooked all your zzilly paperwork had your temptations not stopped so abruptly.” 

“I’ll… I’ll do better.”

“Yezzz. You will.”

_On with the show._

He left the cabaret, he couldn’t stick around pretending to be human. He was a demon, all alone on Earth. Who else could he go to but Aziraphale?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song featured: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t99KH0TR-J4


	6. I Think of You Always

“My side is just as bad as yours,” Crowley concluded.

“It’s Hell, of course it’s bad.”

“I mean I expected your side to get all up their own arses about -- we’re supposed to be about rebellion, you know? Questioning things. That’s what Hell was founded on-- You’d think they’d be all for-- Beezlebub called them _things_ for God- for Sa- for fuck sake. Even Hell doesn’t care. No one cares. Who’s supposed to be looking out for these people, then? No one cares about them except me.”

Aziraphale, sitting on the bed beside him, risked a small touch, just barely brushing their hands together, “And me.”

And Crowley didn’t move away from the touch. Aziraphale understood him. He was the one being in the universe who had been through what he was experiencing.

Aziraphale’s friend had been equally let down by Heaven. Equally scorned.

The little touch meant everything. It was pregnant with meaning, understanding, desire. They’d come to this point so many times in the past, but neither had ever dared to go further. 

Maybe this time, they’d finally stop dancing around things, stop with this centuries-long game of push and pull, stop with the show of enemies. Maybe this time. Maybe all those small hand brushes and rendezvous were leading them to this moment: to the bed in the scruffy apartment in the tumultuous city of Berlin in a Europe that just narrowly escaped the end of the world and was rapidly heading towards another attempt. 

And in that moment, they forgot about everything else. The touch was the only thing that mattered. There was no more sides, no more great cosmic battles or human world wars. 

Slowly, Crowley held a hand up to Aziraphale’s chest. He placed it there, he didn’t push, but Aziraphale got the message. He lowered himself down on the bed beside Crowley, facing him. Carefully, he removed Crowley’s sunglasses. His forehead wrinkled in concern at the sight of his teary eyes, but he made no mention of them. 

“I’m afraid the bed is rather narrow.”

“We’ll manage,” Crowley said, slithering closer, keeping the hand on his chest. 

Aziraphale moved his own hand along Crowley’s back, very gently, very cautiously. The recipient of this touch shivered. 

“Do you want to sleep?”

Crowley closed his eyes and nodded. 

“Okay,” Aziraphale pressed their foreheads together ever so slightly, “Just promise me you’ll wake up tomorrow morning.”

“I promise.”

“Go to sleep,” He rubbed small circles on Crowley’s upper back soothing him into a sweet dream. 

He did, in fact, wake up the next morning. Aziraphale hadn’t left the bed, but had moved onto his back. Crowley had shifted so that his head rested in the crook of his neck, a leg and an arm thrown over the angel’s body. Aziraphale’s eyes were closed but he wasn’t sleeping. 

“Mmm morning,” Crowley grumbled and started to stretch, “I’m sorry.”

“For what, my dear?”

“Everything.” His voice was muffled in Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“It is already forgiven.”

Crowley left early. He went to check on the injured boy, but had to force himself not to perform any miracles. What if Hell reversed it, as Heaven had done to Aziraphale’s friend? That didn’t bear thinking about. So, he just had to use the clumsy human ways of relieving suffering. Alcohol, bandages, etc. 

“Listen, you don’t have to work here anymore.” Crowley said to him, “These things don’t happen often, and I’ll do everything in my power to protect you, but I completely understand if it scares you--”

“I don’t want to leave.” Hans said, “You took care of me. My family wouldn’t have done that.” 

Crowley felt intensely sad, “We’ll be your family, if you like. All of us at the cabaret.”

Hans pulled him into a hug, and Crowley could feel the waves of gratitude coming off of him. He couldn’t stop himself from crying.

Aziraphale and Crowley came into Matilda’s cafe one morning to discuss the state of the boy, but came to find a harrowing scene. Someone shouting in Matilda’s face. Crowley leapt into action, putting himself between her and the angry stranger, “Oi! What do you think you’re doing?” He shoved the man away and sent him packing. 

Aziraphale went to check on his friend, “My dear, are you alright?”

“Yes, yes,” She wiped away a tear, “Just… nervous.”

“I would be shaken up after something like that too. What was all the fuss about?” 

“He said my prices were too high, that I was being greedy. They’re as low as they can go, honestly!”

Crowley had returned from kicking the man out. He brushed himself off, “Don’t worry, he won’t be back.” He held out a hand, “I’m Crowley.”

She shook it, “Mr. Fell’s… business partner?” 

“Is that what he told you?” Crowley laughed, “I suppose so.”

“If you encounter any more trouble, don’t hesitate to tell me. We’ll sort things out, it’s the least we can do,” Aziraphale promised.

Aziraphale glowed at Crowley’s protective stance, how quickly he’d thrown the harasser out. He couldn’t help but admire him so. He stood up for humanity, against the cruelty they show each other, cruelty that even disgusted demons from time to time. He was so brave.

Aziraphale was now known among the workers at the cabaret. He’d been backstage a fair amount of times to help with Hans’ healing process. But his presence was so comforting that all the other performers wanted to speak to him whenever they were having any kind of trouble. He might not have always given the best advice, but there was something so soothing in his voice. He gave them hope that the world could be better.

And Crowley felt a strong sense of love and hope as he watched Aziraphale get along famously with all his own friends, who immediately understood the nature of their relationship better than even they did. For all his old-fashioned ways, Aziraphale had changed a lot since their argument in St. James’ Park. They had both changed. 

The two of them began to spend more time in the same flat. They hadn’t moved in together exactly, they each kept their own places. But after the nights at the cabaret, they’d find a bottle or two to share at either one of their flats, and Crowley would often end up falling asleep next to Aziraphale. In the mornings, Aziraphale would procure some breakfast for the two of them. And though Crowley hardly felt like eating, he would at least try a bite of everything that Aziraphale placed in front of him. 

And slowly, they began to touch more. It started off with the little touches, like hand brushes, the inevitable bumping that happens when a small flat has to accommodate two beings. But as time went on, each one would dare to take a little more love and give a little more love. Aziraphale’s fingers running through Crowley’s hair, or Crowley stretching his legs over Aziraphale’s lap. Embracing when they were to be apart. Each touch stoking a fire. Each touch reassuring them of their own side. 

One day Aziraphale discovered a gramophone in Crowley’s flat, and asked him why he had it.

“I like music,” was his response.

“Play a song, will you dear? One you like.”

Crowley swept through his records and pulled one out. He placed it carefully on the slick clockwork machine and lined the needle up with the grooves. It never needed to be wound up, because Crowley didn’t know that was required and always just expected it to work. 

A song began to play softly and Crowley danced in place. Aziraphale took his hand and joined him. Crowley turned to face him, pressing their chests together, and resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. The lights dimmed simply because they wanted them to. Their heartbeats grew faster and they blushed as their corporeal forms buzzed with the touch, the alcohol, the music. 

“I thought of you every day you were asleep,” Aziraphale whispered.

“You were the only one I dreamt about,” Crowley whispered back.

_When I’m not with you_  
I think of you always  
When I’m not with you  
Think of me always 

The world melted away, as it tended to each night in Berlin, and they fell into each others’ arms, touching more of each other than they ever had before. Their worries were left outside, and thousands of years of desire suddenly broke free and came crashing down on top of their heads. The moment was inevitable, bound to happen from the moment they met; it had been a spark away from catching flame for thousands of years.

And how quickly it burned. They fell into bed and into a rhythm, though clumsy at first, like their dancing. They couldn’t undress each other quickly enough, couldn’t touch everything fast enough, couldn’t breathe enough.

Neither of them exactly inexperienced in these matters, but were still totally overwhelmed. Making the effort had never been like this before, for either of them: so full of wanting. Wanting to know the other completely, wanting everything all at once. And then their mouths met in a frantic kiss. 

It reached a fever pitch. The pleasure was neither of Heaven or Hell, it was entirely human -- just a few corporeal chemicals had the power to overwhelm them so. As they came down from the high they held onto one another. The grip was so tight, as if they would fall apart if they let go for even a second. 

After all was done, Aziraphale held Crowley close, wrapping his arms around his skinny frame, pressed up against his back. They were warm, they were together, they were the only two beings who truly understood each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song featured: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R44FQ2BN2PA


	7. Love of my Life

Crowley was concerned when Dot began coming to work more exhausted. Dark circles started appearing under her eyes. He got Aziraphale to check her aura, and he found it terribly sickly looking. 

Crowley pulled her aside one day, “You need to stop working, Dot. Take a break.”

“No, I need the money.”

“Please, go home. Get some rest.” 

She relented and packed up her things. Crowley forgot himself: he made sure that she got home safely with a miracle. He didn’t realize what a mistake this was until later.

He spent that night at Aziraphale’s home. They got to talking about Dot.

“I’m so worried about her. I just wish I could miracle her better, you know? Humans barely know how to get rid of a cold.”

“I understand.” Aziraphale said.

“We can quite literally do anything we imagine, but here we are, unable to do anything. I would be laughing if I weren’t so terrified. I don’t know how they deal with it, to be honest.”

“They often don’t. They ignore it right up until the end.”

“Some live each day like it’s their last. Can you imagine that? Can you _imagine_ that. I mean can you _really imagine_ that?”

“No, I suppose I can’t.”

“Tell me about your friend. The one who died.” He added, “Only if you like.”

Aziraphale recounted how he first met Oscar Wilde, their short romance and long friendship. How he was always the first one to receive a copy of his newly published works. And then in the end, how he was imprisoned for the crime of love, how his spirit was broken by hard labour, how he grew so ill. The miracle, warding off his meningitis, making things get better for just a moment. That was what Heaven objected to, not the bitter conditions of his prison, nor the humiliation of the trial, nor the criminalization of love. They objected to a relief of suffering. “The worst part is he had more faith than ever in the end. That didn’t matter; all that mattered was that he was who he was.”

Crowley thankfully asked what Aziraphale couldn’t, “Why make them live if they’re just going to die?” 

He ought to have said _I don’t know._

No-- he wanted to say _I don’t know_. He ought to have said _You mustn't question the divine plan._

Instead, he said, “I love you.”

Crowley squeezed his hand, “I love you too.”

This came as no surprise to either of them, given that they both were beings with supernatural methods of sense. The feelings of fondness radiating off each other did not escape either of them. But it was deniable, _ineffable_. But now, it was out there in the open. It hung silently in the air for a second. It couldn’t be taken back, and now… they could only look to the future, which Aziraphale was not the best at. 

So he asked, “What do we do now?”

“I’ve… thought about going back to England with you. We could get a cottage together.”

Aziraphale hummed, “I think I’d like that.”

Every time Crowley slept after that, he dreamt about a cottage in South Downs with a beautiful flower garden around the back and a library inside. A kitchen where he would make fresh dinners for the love of his life each night. And they would bicker, but never with any cruelty. And they would sleep in the same bed. And they would understand each other. 

In the dreams they were human. They grew old together, never stopped understanding each other. In the following months, Crowley almost forgot that they weren’t human.

Crowley was reminded of what he truly was when Beelzebub showed up in the alley behind the cabaret one night, to confront him for his continued good deeds. He didn’t come home after his shift. Aziraphale didn’t think much of it, they occasionally spent nights apart. At some point though, a strange noise brought him out of his reading, and he decided to investigate. Aziraphale came downstairs from his flat to find Matilda’s cafe vandalized. A brick had been thrown through her window. 

He ran into the building, but the woman was nowhere to be found. He could sense a lingering evil in the air. The culprit was long gone, though.

Aziraphale was about to repair the window, when he heard a strange noise echoing from the alley. He peered around the corner and saw Crowley skulking around in the shadows. _Of course! He was a demon, of course he would betray you like this._

Aziraphale quickly ran up to him and pinned Crowley against the wall, he had fury in his eyes, “What did you do?” He quickly took in the demon’s hurt look, but held him tight.

“They made me-- Tempt him-- I didn’t think he’d do it--” 

“You made someone do this?”

“I didn’t make him-- he wanted to, your friend, he--”

“Who?”

“Hugo-- he wanted to--”

“God, no. Crowley.” Aziraphale tried and failed to hold his tears back, “We could have found a way around it, if only you told me. For God’s sake, it didn’t have to come to this--”

“I did what I had to--”

Angry tears fell out of his eyes, “I did what I had to for thirty years and you still haven’t forgiven me! We’re supposed to be in this together now. I trusted you to be better.”

“Maybe I can’t be better. I’m a demon.”

Aziraphale let go of him, “We both know that’s not true.”

Crowley rubbed where Aziraphale’s grip had been, “Beelzebub gave me the orders. I couldn’t just disobey. My lot don’t scold you with strongly-worded letters--”

“You could have done _something!_”

“No I--”

“Just go. Leave me to clean up your mess.”

Crowley lowered his head and left the scene. It had been a halfhearted temptation at most, the man was already on the verge of deciding to do it without any occult intervention. His head was filled with all sorts of nonsense, Crowley could sense that. 

He checked his watch, and saw it wasn’t too late. Where else could he go but the cabaret? When he returned in the cast entrance, the show was going on. Hans’ soprano voice serenaded the whole room,

_Love of my life, you've hurt me_  
You've broken my heart and now you leave me  
Love of my life, can't you see?  
Bring it back, bring it back  
Don't take it away from me   
Because you don't know  
What it means to me 

_Love of my life, don't leave me_  
You've taken my love, you now desert me  
Love of my life, can't you see?  
Bring it back, bring it back  
Don't take it away from me  
Because you don't know  
What it means to me 

_You will remember_  
When this is blown over  
Everything's all by the way  
When I grow older  
I will be there at your side to remind you  
How I still love you   
I still love you 

_Back, hurry back_  
Please bring it back home to me  
Because you don't know what it means to me  
Love of my life  
Love of my life 

This was their time and Crowley wasn’t going to let it slip away like he had many, many times before. This was their chance to live for one another. They had the cottage, they had their understanding, they had their _love_.

He ran out of the cabaret and almost bumped into Aziraphale, who was on his way to see him. His hands found their way to Aziraphale’s chest.

“I’m sorry, I know you can’t forgive me, but just know that I’m sorry.” Crowley pleaded, “I love you, angel, I really do.”

Aziraphale took his hand, “And I know you can’t forgive me.” 

“Do you still love me?”

“I do.”

They fell into each other's arms. They didn’t dare let go, lest the world crumble around them. But the cracks were already starting to show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song featured: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2o2RwOWhhJY


	8. Till the End of Time

There was a cabaret in a city called Berlin in a country called Germany, and it was the end of the world, but they had a way of ignoring it. The trumpets signaling end times could have been playing, and they wouldn’t have even heard it over the music of the cabaret.

And the trumpets were playing in the political rallies, during the speeches as the election approached. The sound filtered down to everyday life through the small talk, the newspapers, the propaganda. 

But through it all, Crowley and Aziraphale were dancing each night. Holding onto each other. They kept themselves in lucky ignorance of how things were changing. They were in a bubble, never being able to take their eyes off each other long enough to really notice what was going on. 

Until Matilda left one way without warning. She had sold her cafe and left, the only thing she said in her note to Aziraphale was _You may call me an alarmist, but things are going to go bad. I hope you get out while you still can. Thank you for everything._

And then he noticed. The city wasn’t like this when he first arrived. The cabaret used to be more full, more lively. Some of the performers were leaving their jobs. Some were leaving the country. Same story with the usual patrons. While at first the only military men he would see were the ones visiting the woman next door, their presence around the city had increased dramatically. 

The city that once didn’t care about what two men-shaped-beings did together now cared quite a lot. They found themselves being spat at more than a few times for showing affection. Crowley taught them a lesson, but that didn’t stop new people from joining in on the harassment. Aziraphale’s once sweet neighbor had sneered at him when Crowley left his flat, and refused to make eye contact from then on. The decriminalization he’d hoped and prayed for was put on hold.

Crowley didn’t pay his surroundings much mind. He was just overwhelmed with life. He couldn’t believe his luck that things had finally come through for them. He didn’t even notice as Dot went back to Paris. Aziraphale had noticed, but he brushed it out of his mind. He pushed it down. He was living with the love of his life, living without heaven’s constant threats for the first time in ages, and Berlin had allowed him to live this good life. Then, the book burnings happened. 

Aziraphale smelled something peculiar on his daily walk, something that brought him back to the first celestial war, in which he was a footsoldier with a flaming sword. He followed his senses until he came across what looked like Hell. A portal to Hell right in the middle of the street, flames licking right up to the sides of buildings. 

Then he realized it wasn’t hellfire. It wasn’t fire from heaven either. It was something much worse, much scarier: human fire. He had seen it all before. It was the same fire that destroyed the Library of Alexandria, devoured women accused of witchcraft, and tore down the illustrious city of Rome.

He stood to the side as piles of books were thrown into the flames with a cold detachment. They were discarding them with a horrible carelessness as if throwing out some rubbish. Masterpieces, people’s lives works being eaten up alive. How many hours of human labour had been destroyed already? How much more would be destroyed before the day was over? A burning starting in the back of his throat and the smoke stung his eyes. Something inside him tugged at his gut, and it reminded him of the brick and the broken glass. And that was the final straw.

He had forgotten what he was, forgotten what Crowley was. But now he remembered. Of course, he couldn’t trust him, of course not. 

He knew on some level that Crowley hadn’t been involved, he knew on some level what evil humans are capable of all on their own. He remembered how upset Crowley was at all the cruelties throughout history. Surely he wouldn’t be capable of something like this. But the doubt… that lingered. It wouldn’t be until the next decade, and a rescue in a church, that Aziraphale stopped doubting.

He went back to the cabaret for one last visit. Crowley was smoking outside, he smiled at Aziraphale. Dear God, his smile. He was still drowning in love, and Aziraphale was going to have to be the one to pull him back to reality. His face fell when he got close enough to see Aziraphale’s upset expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel what, angel?”

“What’s going on.”

“There’s nothing going on, it’s just the same as always--” Aziraphale grabbed him by the shoulders. 

“Wake up, Crowley. Look what’s going on around us! Really look--”

“That doesn’t matter--”

“Doesn’t matter? Something’s happening and people are going to get hurt.”

“We have each other. We have the cottage--”

“Oh please. That was a dream; that was never going to happen. Imagine us living in domestic bliss like-- like some humans.” He spat the words out with such cold bitterness, “You forgot that I am an angel, you are a demon. We’re enemies for God’s sake.”

Crowley almost crumbled to the ground, and made a choked sound, “No. You said you loved me--”

“No, it’s not that-- It’d-- It’d never work. Heaven and Hell would destroy us.”

“We would outsmart them! We’re-- We’ve done that before--”

“It’s one thing to cover a temptation or a blessing, it’s quite another to try to live together. I’m sorry Crowley, but it’s true. Do you want to be killed?” 

“No, I--”

“You see, this is precisely why I couldn’t give you any holy water. You have a death wish. You’d off yourself the second I handed it over.”

“I told you why I wanted it and it’s not--” Crowley sobbed.

“You’d leave me in a heartbeat, and I can’t--”

“I wouldn’t--”

“--I can’t stand to have another one of my lovers die because of me.”

“Please. Aziraphale-- Angel--”

“It’s over. I’m going home.”

“I’ll walk you--”

“No I’m going _home_. To London.”

Crowley held onto his lapel, his hands shaking with the effort, “No-- please--”

“Goodbye, Crowley.” Aziraphale pulled away, and grimly added, “May we meet on a better occasion.”

And while he tore himself away from the one he loved, he reminded himself that it was never meant to last, it was all a moment of weakness in the debauched city, it didn’t mean anything. But the fondness he felt kept finding its way out. _Some things are more precious because they don't last long._ Maybe next time the two of them met, Aziraphale wouldn’t be so blinded by grief. He would have a clear head.

If nothing else, Aziraphale figured, he had learned something. He could no longer in good conscience sit by idly while people disappeared and books burnt. He would fight fascism. And if heaven disapproved then he would fight it the human way and risk discorporation and destruction: that would be his reason to live. 

And Crowley was left alone at the cabaret once again after the love of his life had left. He sank to his knees on the sidewalk, wanting to pray and beg and cry. But those last words stuck with him. _May we meet on a better occasion_. Maybe not this time, maybe next time things would be better. Maybe next time. Next time: that was his reason to live. He got his curtain call. 

As the spotlight blinked on and the drumroll began, he felt like he was being judged by God Herself. Maybe She would actually listen this time.

_“While the sun hangs in the sky and the desert has sand_  
While the waves crash in the sea and meet the land  
While there's a wind and the stars and the rainbow  
Till the mountains crumble into the plain  
Oh yes, we'll keep on trying  
Tread that fine line  
Oh, we'll keep on trying  
Just passing our time 

Passing our time until we meet again. And maybe that time, they could try again. And if that falls through they could try again. And again.

_While we live according to race, colour or creed_  
While we rule by blind madness and pure greed  
Our lives dictated by tradition, superstition, false religion  
Through the eons and on and on  
Oh, yes, we'll keep on trying, yeah  
We'll tread that fine line  
Oh oh we'll keep on trying  
Till the end of time 

They had until Armageddon, they could keep trying until then. Dear God, it was coming so soon. He couldn’t waste any more time sleeping. 

_If there's a God or any kind of justice under the sky_  
If there's a point, if there's a reason to live or die  
If there's an answer to the questions we feel bound to ask  
Show yourself destroy our fears release your mask  
Oh yes, we'll keep on trying 

Why, God, why? He would never stop asking why, he would never stop trying to find Her answers. Why did She play these games with their hearts and with their lives?

_Hey, tread that fine line_  
We'll keep on smiling, yeah  
And whatever will be will be  
We'll just keep on trying  
We'll just keep on trying  
Till the end of time  
Till the end of time  
Till the end of time…” 

The song ended with a crash of cymbals, the sound left to ring out. He couldn’t die, not yet, not with so much to keep on trying. So much humanity that he had missed already, and so much that was on its way. He had to try it all, every trend, every song, every new hairstyle. And maybe the next time he met Aziraphale, things would be different, things would be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song featured: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FkIViNpRC2w

**Author's Note:**

> Song featured: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HgzGwKwLmgM
> 
> Not what you'd call good dancing, though: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wi0Onm9LtME


End file.
